


Bright Things

by Zdenka



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Age, Gen, Havens of Sirion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 20:45:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4194300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/pseuds/Zdenka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newly arrived at the Havens of Sirion, the child Elwing tries to comfort herself with memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bright Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StarSpray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpray/gifts).



Bright things are dangerous. Elwing wakes from dreams of firelight reflected on flashing swords, shouts and screams and the smell of smoke. Her heart is pounding wildly, and in the darkness she is not quite convinced it was only a dream. She clutches the covers about her, reluctant to leave the false safety of her bed. But the dream lingers _(the stone cold under her bare feet, running and running while behind her harsh voices are shouting foreign words)_ and she has to know it for true or false. She pushes the covers aside and springs out of bed in one quick motion.

She stands very still, hugging her arms around herself. The night is silent. She goes to the window, opens the shutters, and leans far out until she can see the glimmer of the ocean. They have promised to take her to see it, but for the past few days they have been busy finding places for everyone to stay. They will not let her go by herself. Someone is always with her during the day: one of the march-wardens, or one of her mother's friends, or one of her father's councilors. Elwing does what they tell her to. She concentrates on being quiet ( _"We must go quietly now, Elwing," her mother says in a low voice_ ) and staying out from underfoot. At night she is alone, and when she wakes up, she cannot always remember where she is. But she can hear the waves now, and her breathing slows to match their rhythm. The night breeze is cold, but the salt in the air clears away the remembered smell of smoke. She drags a chair over beside the window and curls up in it. Eventually, she sleeps.

Bright things are dangerous; Elwing first learns this when she is very young. She is standing with her father in the pool below the waterfall. The spray from the waterfall strikes the pool and leaps up again in rainbows, sparkling in the sunlight. Elwing is fascinated, longing to see it closer. She lets go of her father’s hand and goes toward it, one step, two –- and then she trips on a rock hidden under the water and falls down with a splash. The water closes over her head and she cannot breathe -– Then her father’s strong arms lift her up and she is held to his chest. She can draw in a breath, and she lets it out in a loud wail. Her father strokes her hair and tells her that she is not hurt, not really, she is safe, that he will not let anything bad happen to her. Eventually her weeping trails off into sniffles. He crouches down, still holding her tightly, and takes water from the pool in his cupped hand to wash the tears from her face.

She clings to this memory, as she does all her memories of her father and mother and brothers. She remembers her mother standing behind her father to clasp the golden necklace about his neck, with the bright jewel set in the center. It is very beautiful, but her father seems sad and Elwing does not know why. She remembers her mother drawing a flashing needle through cloth; Elwing reaches to grasp it, but her mother smiles and catches her hand before she can prick herself. She remembers her brothers scuffling over a dagger which one of the guards has carelessly left on a table. Eluréd accidentally nicks his thumb and stares at the drop of blood in comical surprise. Mablung catches them then and gives them a lecture on the safe handling of weapons; they stand still and pretend to be contrite, but she can see their eyes sparkling with bright laughter. She remembers her father, tall and imposing in silver armor, pulling a helmet over his dark hair. The nose-guard and the shadows of the eyeholes obscure his expression; she does not like the way his face disappears into a silvery mask. She remembers her mother, grim and determined, drawing an arrow from the quiver at her back; the point of the arrow gleams just like a needle.

And she remembers the Silmaril. It shines with hues of every color, brilliant and alluring like the rainbows in the waterfall. She is old enough to understand that her father and her mother and her brothers are gone because of the jewel; it is beautiful, but she hates it and she does not want to look at it.

Bright things are dangerous, she knows; but the first time she sees the ocean, she falls in love. It is impossibly vast, going on into the distance beyond sight. The depths reveal shifting colors, greys and blues and greens, and sunlight sparkles from the waves like the brightest of jewels. She stares and stares, digging her bare toes into the sand.

The soft, rhythmic noise of the waves sliding along the beach is gentle and soothing, as if she were once more lying curled up against her mother’s side and listening to the sound of her breathing. _Home,_ it says, and _safe._ Even though her home is gone and nothing is safe, she cannot help feeling lighter. She runs along the beach, frightening the sea birds, and breathes in great gulps of salt air. Under the watchful eyes of her guardians, she runs and splashes in the waves until she is exhausted. She sleeps well that night for the first time since they left Doriath, and there is only the sound of the waves in her dreams.


End file.
